


Between Two Points

by burnsbright



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Dark, F/F, F/M, Gen, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-20
Updated: 2017-01-20
Packaged: 2018-09-18 17:30:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9395747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/burnsbright/pseuds/burnsbright
Summary: She's Sanna. She's a slave; a nobody. Then she meets Anakin Skywalker. Once a slave, no longer a nobody. Turns out, they have a little more in common than she'd expect.





	

**act i** : aphelion  
_In a galaxy far, far away…_

* * *

_Her world is on fire._

_Flames sizzle and hiss and spit, merciless with want. Screams swiftly follow; agonized, shrill things that threaten to split her skull in half from their ferocity. The air is frenetic with panic and pain, misery written everywhere. A dark figure stands in the middle of it all, limned in a scarlet glow_ —

Suddenly and without warning, she wakes up. Unconsciousness chases her, clouding her reality in smoke and screams and heat. It takes her several moments to comprehend she's awake, that it hadn't been real, that she's _safe_. _Nightmare_ , she thinks. The realization does little to calm her.

The slave quarters are silent, bathed in moonlight and shadows. She can just make out her master standing in the doorway, staring at her. His face is unreadable. 

"Go back to sleep, Sanna."

She opens her mouth to reply but falters. There's something lodged in her throat, like a scream trying to claw its way out. Wordlessly, Xander turns and leaves. Confused, she slowly lays back down. _Nightmare_ , she thinks again, even chants to herself. _It was just a nightmare_. 

None of the reassurances erase the raw, unrelenting instinct within her telling her otherwise.

* * *

Sleep never comes, and at daybreak, Sanna leaves the palace. Xander allows her to run to town for supplies and she uses this as a veneer to hide her true intentions. She needs distance, she thinks, in order to clear her mind. However, the oppressive silence of the desert only causes them to fester and grow until eventually, she becomes so distracted she loses track of time.

The twin suns burn bright and hot on their descent behind the horizon, setting it ablaze in a glory of scarlet-gold bursts. It’s brilliant and breathtaking, but she stares at it in equal measures of shock and dread. Resignation quickly follows. Making it back to the palace before nightfall is out of the question. It’s the only condition her master ever set.

As she powers up the speeder and directs it back towards the palace, she wonders what punishments he will dole out for her disobedience. She can’t hope for leniency because it’s her first time missing curfew. All possibilities are worst than the last, but nothing she hasn’t experienced before. Nothing she can’t handle. Or so she tells herself.

A loud, sputtering clunk breaks her train of thought. She tightens her grip on the handles in surprise as the speeder shudders and gives several jerks before coming to an abrupt stop. Fiddling with the interface, she curses loudly when it remains unresponsive. She weighs her options, but quickly realizes there’s no options to weigh. Her master won’t coming look for her, and she can’t wait for the slim chance of someone coming to her rescue.

Frustrated, she hops off the speeder and pulls her satchel out of the storage compartment. She eyes the supplies and with a sigh, reluctantly picks up the crate. She refuses to show up empty-handed as well. Sparing the speeder one last scathing glance, she begins walking. Judging by the amount of time she had been on the speeder, she still has ways to go.

Up above, the last waning burst of scarlet-gold is dying into a deep, navy blue. Night always comes quickly in Tatooine, relieving the desert of all its heat. As soon as that thought passes through her mind, she quickens her pace. She doesn’t want to be caught in the desert at night, not with the chilly winds and Tusken Raiders.

She doesn’t get very far before the sound of excited chatter reaches her. Not allowing herself to hope, she turns to look and her heart promptly dives. A handful of Tuskens are advancing on her with glinting masks, crude weapons in hand.

She drops the crate, assuaging her regret with the fact she much rather favors any of her master’s consequences over being murdered by a Tusken. For a split second, as she makes a break for it, she thinks she might be able to outrun them. And then her foot is yanked out from underneath her.

She hits the ground with a strangled shout, surprise and fear instantly overshadowing her pain. Rolling onto her back, she spies the rope around her ankle and tugs on it until it gives away. Clumsily, she stands, ignores the stab of pain in her ankle, and starts to run again.

When the rope wraps around her neck, she has no time to react before she’s on her back. Air is knocked out from her lungs in a great, wheezing gust and black dots fill her vision. She stares up at the sky blindly, eyes burning. The chatter grows closer and closer until blobs appear on the edge of her eyesight. Instinctively, she moves to sit up, but one of them pins her to the ground with a stick.

_Get up, you’ve got to get away_ —

The pain is blinding, consuming, and it drags her under before she can finish the thought.

* * *

Agony greets Sanna when she awakes.

Fire scorches her insides, her throat the searing heart of it, and her head pulses with a jagged ache. When she moves, her back and ankle protest with white hot licks. Slowly, hazy memories of her encounter with the Tusken Raiders filter through her mind. They had come out of nowhere and taken her, but where?

She sits up and winces as nausea swims in the pit of her stomach. Focusing on her unfamiliar surroundings, she gazes around the hut with glassy eyes. She jumps when she spots another woman, the only other presence in the hut. The woman holds up her hands, face weatherbeaten but kind. 

"I mean you no harm.”

Sanna opens her mouth and tries to speak, but a choked sound erupts instead as it turns the simmering fire in her throat into a raging inferno. Squeezing her eyes shut, she gently brushes her fingertips against her battered neck.

“Don’t talk,” the woman advises in a quiet, calm voice. “Your throat is badly bruised. Just focus on breathing. There. That’s it.”

Questions start spinning through Sanna’s mind, too rapidly for her to properly grasp. She compartmentalizes the pain as best as she can. Having her throat nearly crushed is new, but pain isn’t.

“Your collar just stopped the worst of it,” the woman continues. The kindness so plain on her face doesn’t fade in the face of Sanna’s wordless suspicion. “They took me too.”

The woman scoots closer and pulls up her sleeves, revealing clusters of purpling bruises. Sanna’s gut twists sharply, but she doesn’t look away. A paranoid part of her mind can’t help but consider that this is a trick. It wouldn’t be the first time someone has used underhanded tactics to gain her trust. Yet, in all the stories she’s heard, the Tuskens are deranged and mindless. Still, she feels it would be mindless of her to underestimate them.

The woman smiles, small but real. “I’m Shmi.”

Shmi holds out a rock with a meaningful look, but Sanna hesitates. Guessing it can’t hurt to introduce herself, to learn what the woman knows, she takes the rock and writes her name in the sand. She bites back a hiss of pain as she jostles her ankle.

“Lovely to meet you, Sanna. I wish it was under better circumstances,” Shmi remarks, both wry and sad.

Sanna stares at Shmi, bemused. The kindness is genuine but disarming. She steels herself, knowing it could be a weapon the woman is intentionally using against her. She gestures around the hut questioningly. 

Shmi understands. “We’re at one of their camps. I don’t know much more than that. I’m sorry.”

Heavy footsteps catch Sanna’s attention and she runs her hand through the sand, erasing her name. She just manages to slip the rock underneath her leg as a Tusken appears in the doorway. Out of the corner of her eye, she notices Shmi has folded in on herself.

The Tusken regards them through his mask in silence. Unnerved, Sanna simply stares back. He throws a jar at her before disappearing again. Warily, she picks it up and with a jolt of surprise, she realizes it’s a healing remedy.

Shmi’s voice is heavy as she says, “They want to keep you alive.”

* * *

Time holds no meaning for a slave. For a slave, time is irrelevant and intangible. It suggests a past, a present, and a future; a slave has none of those.

It’s the one thing that hasn’t changed. She’s still a slave, and time is is still insignificant. Between blinding terror and blinding pain, she’s unsure of how much of it has passed. All she has to mark the passing of days with is sunlight and darkness, and whenever Shmi is pulled out for a beating and thrown back in.

When Shmi is thrown in yet again, Sanna grimaces at the sight of her face. One eye is swelling while the other discolors. She can’t ignore it, suspicions or not. Grabbing the jar, she crawls over and sets it in front of Shmi.

“Save it. I mean it, Sanna. Don’t let it go to waste,” Shmi croaks.

Undeterred by the stern, disapproving tone in Shmi’s voice, Sanna pushes the jar closer with a pointed look.

“Sanna,” Shmi says scoldingly. She sighs when Sanna simply stares at her, unmoving. She smiles tiredly as she picks up the jar with shaky hands. “So stubborn. You remind me of my son. He’s much the same.”

Sanna arches an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. She has never heard Shmi speak of a son or even of a family before. 

“Anakin,” Shmi murmurs, tone wistful and wanting and sorrowful. “His name is Anakin. My wild boy, so full of love. I haven’t seen him for so long, and now I fear the chance has been taken from me forever.”

Frowning, Sanna sits back and unconsciously reaches up to touch her slave collar. When she only finds bare, tender skin, she awkwardly lets her hand fall. She supposes she should be happy it’s gone, but she feels unsettled without it. Guilty, too—like she’s done something wrong.

Picking up the rock, she draws her next question into the sand. _Have you tried escaping?_

“Yes,” Shmi answers. Her eyes flare. “Don’t be foolish, Sanna. They’ll kill you as soon as you openly disobey them.”

Sanna’s frown deepens. In truth, her distrust towards Shmi had abated. Her kindness is still strange, still disarming, but she has realized the intentions behind it are pure. Besides that, Shmi is her ally—her only ally—and one is better than none. 

She touches Shmi’s shoulder, waiting until the woman looks at her. When their gazes connect, flinty resolve returns to Shmi’s eyes. As the understanding passes between them, Sanna pulls back, equally determined.

* * *

Across the galaxy, Anakin Skywalker fitfully wakes up with his mother’s name on the tip of his tongue and an image of a black-haired girl seared behind his eyelids.

* * *

It had been inevitable, but terror still swallows Sanna’s whole when the Tuskens haul her out alongside Shmi. Every instinct in her body demands her to struggle against them, to escape, but she crushes the urge. Struggling never accomplishes anything.

Rather, she takes the opportunity and looks around the camp. A handful of huts are set up around a firepit, nothing but wasteland spreading out beyond them. The clan is gathered around, an unmistakable thrill of excitement humming in the air. 

The two Tuskens holding Sanna stop while the other two holding Shmi continue dragging her forwards. They stop nearby the pit and glance up at the sky, exchanging a series of growls and grunts. Another emerges, wielding a large stick with carvings emblazoned into the wood. He draws symbols and patterns into the sand around Shmi, murmuring inaudibly. Once he finishes, he forces Shmi to her knees.

Panic seizes Sanna. Anxiously, she shifts, a dull buzz racing through her veins. She can only imagine what the clan has in mind for them, but the Tuskens holding her only tighten their grip warningly and her panic grows.

The Tusken lifts his masked head towards the sky and sweeps his arms out, murmuring transforming into a steady chant. A chill travels down her spine and she shivers. Belatedly, she realizes Shmi is mouthing something to her. Sacrifice.

Sanna’s hearing is reduced to white noise. They are going to kill Shmi. They are going to kill Shmi and make her watch. _Stars_ , she thinks.

“Wa—” she starts but stops as a cough crawls up her throat. Her eyes burn.

“It’s okay Sanna,” Shmi says, eyes set on Sanna. “It’s okay.”

The Tusken slaps his stick against Shmi’s shoulder, silencing her, but Shmi doesn’t look away from Sanna. All of Sanna’s senses distort. The dull buzz racing through her veins is building, building, expanding, filling her chest, her entire body with warmth. The buzz turns into a surge, a deafening roar, and everything sharpens—

Chaos ensues.

Flames soar from the pit and latch onto several Tusken Raiders, devouring them. The clan shrieks and screams, some rushing towards her while others hover unsurely. Before they can reach her, an invisible force tugs them up into the air and sends them flying backwards. For a moment, there’s only the sounds of splintering huts and the hiss of fire and terrible silence, before the others scatter.

Sanna stands still, bewildered by the sudden turn of events. Shaking it off, she hurries over to Shmi and helps the woman up. Her bloodstream is still humming, albeit dully again, yet it's a sensation so foreign and odd she can’t push it to the back of her mind.

As Shmi steadies herself, Sanna leaves her side and casts the wreckage around her a brief glance as she heads towards the untouched huts. Upon seeing the insides empty, she goes through each one, gathering supplies into a bag she finds. When its fit to burst, she emerges from the hut.

Shmi has composed herself, but the white-knuckled grip she has on one of the Tusken’s sticks belies her fear.

“They killed the banthas,” Shmi informs.

“Then we walk.”

As they leave, Sanna looks back. An old saying of her master’s careens through her mind as she looks at the remains of the camp. _The desert must have blood_.  


* * *

Out in the desert, Sanna thinks about death. She knows she hasn’t escaped it, knows it now looms over her even more greatly. But she thinks she might be okay with it. Okay with the idea of dying free and on her own terms, and with no collar strapped to her neck.

"Did you hear that?" 

Sanna jerks a little and looks at Shmi. Ever since they had left the Tusken Raiders’s camp, they had been silent. Registering the question, her eyebrows furrow. She hears nothing. The desert is always as still and silent as the grave. She shakes her head, but goes still as a loud, earsplitting roar ripples through the air. It echoes between the canyon walls threateningly, drilling into her skull. _Dragon_.

There’s no horror or panic or fear. Hesitation, sure, but she’s still okay, still accepting. Shmi comes to her side and takes Sanna’s hand while Sanna keeps her eyes on the dragon. It rapidly gains on them with planet shaking steps, all slavering teeth and razor-sharp horns. Sanna tightens her grip on Shmi’s hand.

A figure materializes out of one of the canyon passageways, running towards the dragon and throwing itself up onto its back. The dragon hardly seems to notice, letting out a roar as it closes in on them. Suddenly, the roar turns into a shriek and it rears up. A blue beam of energy cuts through its head, causing it to slump lifelessly.

The figure jumps off the dragon and lands on the ground in a crouch. It’s a man, she realizes. He draws himself up, the blue beam of energy disappearing into a metal cylinder.

Beside her, Shmi lets out a strangled half-cry, half-shout. 

"Anakin!"

**Author's Note:**

> hello all and welcome to my first attempt at a star wars story. this idea came a little while ago and refused to leave my brain. i have a lot of ideas planned for it and i'm so excited to share! super huge thank you to christina (notenoughanswers), quinn, and kristen for all their advice and support. please tell me what you think!


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